


Harry Potter and the Helpful Homicidal Maniac

by OrnateDragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7115758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrnateDragon/pseuds/OrnateDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: The Madman who May Actually Be Sane, and Innocent.</p><p>At breakfast on the morning of 1st October, Harry Potter receives a mysterious note from Professor Quirrell, who may be Voldemort as well, requesting a meeting to discuss that Halloween a decade ago.</p><p>Harry is intrigued but also worried. But he wants to know more about that night, so...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter and the Helpful Homicidal Maniac

Harry's mood was rapidly descending to match the autumnal weather outside, as DADA finished, on Halloween. People were constantly talking about him again, and although he'd got sort of used to the other students pointing him out and whispering behind his back, the increased talk about the night his parents had died was not improving the dull headache he had woken with.

As he and Ron packed away their books, he nudged Ron. 

“You'd better apologise to Hermione about Charms class, she was only trying to help.”

“I know, I know,” grumbled Ron, swinging his bag onto his shoulder with ill-grace. He walked a little faster, to catch Lavender and Parvati who were whispering about where Hermione had hidden during DADA. Harry started to follow, only to pause at a light cough from Professor Quirrell.

“Mr Potter, we have our meeting tonight, I trust you have remembered? I have arranged for a light dinner to be served in my office, since I suspect neither of us will enjoy the feast particularly.”

“Yes sir, I remember.” Harry nodded politely, and hurried out of the classroom towards Flying Class. He thought as he went, that Professor Quirrell seemed a most unlikely person to be masquerading as Voldemort, or indeed for Voldemort to be pretending to be the mild-mannered and fairly ineffectual Defence Professor. Although, the Professor's stammer had mostly disappeared over the nearly two months since the start of term, and he seemed to be more comfortable and therefore more capable of teaching than he was during their first few lessons. It may have been this, reflected Harry as he dropped his bag next to Ron's on the edge of the Quidditch pitch before claiming a broom, that meant Harry was more willing to believe his note requesting a meeting to explain the circumstances around that fateful Halloween.

During the flying lesson, Harry pushed all his worries about the date, and the gossip he'd been hearing, and his slight panic about the upcoming meeting to the back of his mind. As he had discovered, flying released him from the shackles of his fame, taking him away from the attention he was so uncomfortable with.

Of course, the worries over the meeting came back as Harry walked along the corridor to Professor Quirrell's office after seeing Ron to the Common Room and hearing his apology to Hermione, but Harry felt slightly calmer and marginally more prepared to listen to Professor Quirrell and/or Voldemort.

Knocking on the office door, Harry brushed down his school robe, and took a deep breath. Luckily, Professor Quirrell seemed to be just as nervous, as he ushered Harry into the room and gestured to the sofa and armchair placed in front of the fireplace.

“Welcome, Mr Potter. I would like to start by reiterating the Vow I made in my letter to you , that at no point shall I offer you violence or attack you in any way, during this meeting or at any time during our interactions. As you may or may not know, by swearing this Vow I shall be held accountable by Mother Magic should I attempt to break it. Please, be seated, may I offer you tea?”

Harry nodded in acceptance, and indeed the small ritual of pouring the tea and adding sugar and milk to their individual tastes seems to to calm them both.

After a few moments where they sipped from their cups in silence, Professor Quirrell leaned forward and placed his cup in its saucer on the coffee table between them.

“I suspect that there is no easy way to start this conversation, but I do wish to offer my apologies for the loss of your parents, firstly. I hope that the information that I am about to give you helps in some way to assist you in understanding that night 10 years ago.” The professor paused there, and Harry lowered his teacup to his lap in both anticipation and fear.

“To begin with, I must take you back to the early spring of 1980, when Headmaster Dumbledore interviewed a young Seer for the role of Divination Professor at Hogwarts. Sybil Trelawney had applied for the post, based on a prediction from her great-great-grandmother Cassandra Trelawney, a very famous Seer, that Sybil would become a greater Seer. However, Dumbledore was not greatly convinced until she gave him this Prophecy.” Professor Quirrell glanced at Harry, to ensure that the young boy was following the story so far.

“Now, Sybil Trelawney has no other Prophecies to her name to date, and Dumbledore has not allowed anyone to examine it. She was also the only prospective Professor to be interviewed elsewhere than the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts.  
At the time she gave Dumbledore the Prophecy, in an inadequately shielded upstairs room at Dumbledore's brother's pub, the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, Severus Snape overheard the first two lines as he was walking down the corridor from the toilets. When he paused, attempting to hear more, he was accused of eavesdropping by the landlord and yet Dumbledore did not Obliviate him. Severus was allowed to walk away with that information despite the high probability that he was a Death Eater.  
When he brought the information to me, it was because he thought it must have been a trap, and he had already several plans in mind. We were waiting for Dumbledore's next move, when Severus was contacted by your mother. Dumbledore had learnt that your mother was pregnant, her due date sometime in late July, and he had convinced your father that the Prophecy was about you. She was less convinced, since Divination always seemed... woolly to her.”

Voldemort (Harry was sure that it was him, out of the combination of him and Quirrell, but decided to keep listening rather than panicking or attacking since this was actually quite interesting to hear) paused and smiled faintly at Harry. He clicked his fingers and a tray containing plates of sandwiches popped onto the desk between them. Harry accepted a plate, selected a sandwich and some salad, and looked at Voldemort.

“So, Dumbledore thought I was going to defeat you, based on a few mumbled words from somebody with no experience and no evidence?”

“Indeed. Your mother was highly sceptical of the validity of the Prophecy, and contacted Severus to ask if he or any other Death Eaters had heard anything. Of course, Severus told her what had happened in the Hog's Head, and that I knew as much as he did. She wanted to meet with me to discuss the matter, since her maternal instincts were sounding alarm bells due to Dumbledore's willingness to stake the future of Wizarding Society on a as yet unborn baby.  
We actually met several times during your mother's pregnancy after our first meeting, since she was very intelligent and helpful to me in discussing ways to bring Muggleborns into our world whilst not losing the very traditional customs and practices that the more hard-line Pure bloods wanted kept. She also gave us the full Prophecy, which Dumbledore had told to her, Potter, Black and Lupin.  
Sadly, some of the more militant Death Eaters and Pure bloods saw my actions as evidence that I was gone mad, or not a true Dark Lord. Their stepped-up attacks on Muggles, Muggleborns and the Light faction lent credence to Dumbledore's campaign against me.”

Voldemort's face darkened, as he got lost in his memories. He didn't seem to realise he was talking aloud as he continued, and Harry sat quietly, listening intently and fascinated by this glance into Voldemort's psyche.

“I have no idea why he was so against me. I sensed great hostility towards me when he came to inform me about Hogwarts and the Magical World, but I had no idea why. He scrutinised every move I made, every conversation I had during my time at Hogwarts, and he was the one who persuaded Headmaster Dippet that I should return to the orphanage every summer instead of being housed in the Wizarding World. To him, the Muggle world war was harmless, and I 'should have no worries' over it!”

Voldemort blinked a couple of times, then sighed and looked at Harry.

“My apologies, that was off topic. Now, your mother kept corresponding with Severus and myself, and then when you were three months old informed us that Dumbledore was pushing for them to hide in a small cottage he owned in Godric's Hollow, under a Fidelius he would cast.  
Your father was easy to convince, he'd had his parents fall to a Death Eater attack despite their residence in Potter Manor, and was an Auror used to looking to Dumbledore and the Ministry for ideas and assistance. Your mother eventually agreed, but only if they used Sirius Black as the Secret Keeper, then Obliviated that information from him once all necessary people were informed. After the Fidelius was performed, she managed to persuade Black to tell Severus and myself of the Potter's location before the Oblivation. You were just turning a year old by then.”

Harry was gob-smacked. “You mean, you knew where we were all along? But, why attack us that Halloween then, why wait so long?”

Voldemort smiled sadly.

“I didn't attack you, Harry. When your mother found out that Dumbledore had convinced your father to switch Secret Keeper from Black to Peter Pettigrew very soon after the Oblivation, despite suspicions by everybody that the rat was a Death Eater – which he was, but only a very minor one. He was only fit for carrying messages for the outer circle, and not at all trusted by the inner circle and certainly not by me – she was furious. She asked Severus and I to meet her and Black at the cottage on Samhain, or Halloween, of 1981, a very powerful night magically speaking. Naturally, Black and Severus were rather... unhappy with being in the same room, but your mother seemed to have blackmail on each of them, and they behaved themselves.  
She felt that Dumbledore was up to something which would not bode well for you, and asked us to help look out for you. Black and Severus as your Godfathers swore to protect you with their lives if necessary.”

“Snape, Godfather, what? He hates me!!” Harry spluttered, almost upending the cold dregs of his tea onto the floor in his surprise.

“I'm not sure what's happened there, he is a lot more bitter and somehow Darker than I remember. It is one of the things I will be looking into.”

Voldemort paused, and urged Harry to eat another sandwich, as the boy seemed far too skinny for his liking.

“Your scar Harry, no doubt you have been told that it was inflicted by me?”

Harry nodded, quietly, still puzzling on Snape.

“It was indeed caused by me, but not as a result of a curse. At your mother's request, I performed an ancient Wizarding ritual, a blood bond with you, effectively naming you my Heir and part of the Riddle family. You may well have picked up many of the abilities and traits of the Riddle and Gaunt lines, and your appearance may change to be similar to mine as you mature. Of course, I didn't replace either your father or mother, it's more that you gained an extra parent alongside your biological parents. It was, when used regularly and before the Ministry designated it as Dark, designed so that if your parents died in battle or of illness, there would be somebody chosen by your parents and confirmed in magic to look after you until such time as you were ready to take on the pressures of the Family estate and business. Why the scar appeared on your forehead instead of your hand where I sliced the required wound, and in the shape of a lightning bolt, we didn't understand at the time, nor have I managed to find any reason in my research since.  
Anyway, after the bond ritual was finished, your mother insisted on feeding us a large dinner, as the ritual had left me feeling somewhat drained. You, luckily, were young enough and it was late enough in the day that your usual night's sleep was all that was needed.  
We were discussing over dessert the best way to proceed when the door to the sitting room burst open, and Dumbledore was standing there, wand raised. He fired three Stunners very quickly, and Severus, Black and your mother all went down.”

“Stunned?” Breathed Harry, caught up in the tale. “But, she died, d-didn't she?”

“I don't know Harry, I'm sorry. At that point certainly, she was only stunned. I had moved to stand over the Moses basket you were sleeping in, attempting to protect you somehow, but Dumbledore's wand swung to point at me. There were some people moving in the shadows behind Dumbledore, and I grew scared of what may happen to you. Dumbledore cast, and I didn't recognise the spell, but everything suddenly went black.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a small room in what turned out to be a small family-run guest house in Ismailiya, in Egypt. They told me I had been found three years earlier, unconscious and looking like I had been mauled by a crocodile, in the alleyway behind the hotel. The local paper which I saw a few days into my waking recovery claimed the date to be 1987. The couple running the hotel had nursed me for the last three years, while I was in a coma, and they then helped me to recover fully, apart from the fact that I had lost my memory and had no idea of who I was.  
They named me Sefu, which means 'sword'. An amazing couple, and an amazing place really; I learnt a lot out there with them, and I was soon studying under some of the local curse breakers in an effort to discover what had happened to me.”

Voldemort paused, and refilled his teacup, and Harry's. Cupping his hands around the cup to take advantage of the warmth, the older man continued speaking.

“It was early 1990 when another English wizard appeared in the area. He had fallen foul of a curse in a tomb he had been investigating, and was dying. In talking to him, I found out that he was named Quirinus Quirrell, and he was about to take up a position at Hogwarts as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He was worried, because the curse on him would not allow him to survive long enough to make it back to Britain, even with the expertise of the local mediwizards.  
I offered to undergo an ancient ritual I had discovered, which would merge another wizard's consciousness and knowledge with my own, with the other wizard's willing consent only, naturally. It was the only way for some part of him to survive. It would also give me an identity and a chance to return to England and discover my real identity. Sadly, it meant that Quirinus Quirrell's body would very soon give up on life, since he was too injured to survive without his consciousness and his magic could not sustain his life for very long.

Bakari and Hasina, the couple who had taken such good care of me, agreed that this was the best option, since without an identity I would find it difficult to establish myself within Britain's magical society. Thus we underwent the ritual, and they cared for the former Quirrell's physical body until his passing.  
I made my way slowly back to Britain, arriving in June of this year, using Quirrell's knowledge to present myself as the slightly timid and definitely unassuming Professor. Once I was back in London, I approached Gringotts for a Heritage and Inheritance Test, and discovered who I had been. The research I then did into my history and activities within the Wizarding World surprised me greatly, since the incidents attributed to me did not seem to fit with my character at all.”

A black look flashed briefly across Voldemort's face, and Harry grew worried.

“When I discovered what I had supposedly done to you, I asked the Goblins to run a full Medical and Magical Scan on me, since there should be residue explaining what had happened. Discounting the Egyptian Mediwizards' work on me, there appeared to be several spells which had mixed together adversely. One was a power-draining spell, one an Obliviate, and there was a Confundus spell also. Once the Goblins discovered this, they managed to repair most of the damage and restore my memories. However the missing years between 1981 and my being found in Egypt in 1987 still have no explanation. The stammer I began this school year with was a side effect of the Goblins' healing regimen, and thankfully has worn off now.  
The Goblins, having discovered the blood ritual which I had conducted with you, did confirm that I was named by Lily Potter to be your guardian, but sadly, they could not trace you. There were a few other issues with the Potter accounts, but the Goblins are containing the problem and you and I will discuss the matter at a later date, should you be willing to accept me as your Guardian. Naturally, should you wish your relatives to continue as your Guardians, I will step aside in most matters, while remaining as your relatives' contact within the Magical World since I understand that you currently reside with your mother's Muggle sister?” 

Harry nodded, still too shocked by everything to be able to put his thoughts into words. Voldemort, realising how overwhelmed Harry must be upon learnng that virtually all he had been told of his parents' deaths was wrong, leant forward from his armchair to place his hand on Harry's shoulder, before they both cried out in pain. Harry's hand had flown to his scar, while Voldemort had collapsed back into his seat clutching his right forearm. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a star-shaped scar on the inside of his arm. It was currently inflamed and red, as Harry's lightning bolt was shown to be when the eleven-year-old lowered his hand.

“That's strange, the ritual scars should be healed by now and not reacting as if they are fresh. I suggest, Harry, that you and I attend Gringotts as soon as is convenient, in order to undergo a full Magical and Medical Scan on you, and on our scars. I fear that there may be more problems than I anticipated.”

Harry nodded again, and as the pain in his head cleared, he embraced his Gryffindor side and spoke boldly.

“Professor, Voldemort? Er, sir, if it's ok with you, I'd like you to be my Guardian. My relatives, they don't like magic or me very much, and I'd prefer to live anywhere but with them. They'd probably prefer it that way too. What, how do we go about it?”

“Well, usually there would be nothing we would have to do, since you would have been handed over to me straight away after your parents died. Given your position as the Boy-Who-Lived, and the likely reaction within the Wizarding World if our connection becomes public knowledge, I suggest that we undergo a ritual within the halls of Gringotts to ensure that nobody can interfere. Don't worry, since we already have the bond, this ritual will consist of a small cut on our right hands, the drinking of a potion into which our blood has been added, and the swearing of an Oath agreeing to be each other's family. Once done, it cannot be undone without Magic's consent, and naturally can only be entered into if all parties involved are doing so of their own free will.”

**Author's Note:**

> My initial notes for this story read: QuirrellMort Helps Harry.
> 
> From that, sprang this! I've currently no idea whether I shall be continuing it, although I may have some ideas.
> 
> The inspiration for the ritual comes mostly from 'Family Bonds', written by xXDesertRoseXx on Fanfiction.net. an amazing story, well worth a read!


End file.
